Immortal Curse
by DBZer16
Summary: He should have perished at time's hand long ago. Yet, more than 200 years after his birth, he still exists. He cannot leave the grounds of the mansion he grew up at. He wakes up on occasion covered with blood that is not his own. When a blue haired girl moves in down the road, she becomes determined to unravel his mystery.
1. Immortal Curse

_Disclaimer. (Insert sarcastic and witty comment about the stupidity of needing a disclaimer for a site labeled "__**Fanfiction**__" here)_

Immortal Curse

…

Blood.

Glowing.

White.

Stained.

Clenching.

Pulling.

Fear.

Gone.

…

…

He stared absently out through the broken window of the mansion. It was an old Victorian structure. Worn over the years, the gardens overgrown, he could still see his childhood in his mind's eye. Running with his younger brother through the rows of plants and flowers, sneaking up on his father and attempting to tackle him… They were wonderful days. But alas, they were long gone. Dead. Just memories to be held and cradled.

That was almost 200 years ago. And yet, he looked no more than if he were in his mid twenties or so. Of course. That was when he stopped aging. When he realized he was different. He didn't know why. His mind would lapse sometimes. The only thing he could remember from those lapses were aggression, blood lust, and the need to just tear something apart.

He never left the home. He never wandered outside of the gardens, past the gate and onto the dirt road. He knew that if he did, something bad would happen.

Yet, some days he would awaken, and find himself soaked in blood on the roadside.

It was never his blood.

He never remembered, and he never wanted to.

There wasn't much to do to pass the time. He grew a vegetable patch, plenty of fruit trees, and wild turkey or deer wandered onto the property often enough to be a meal for a few days, so food was no issue. He had read every book he could find a thousand times over. Sometimes, he would draw, but he was running out of paper, and did not know how to make it. He exercised a lot. He would run around the perimeter of the gates, just out of sight from potential passer bys. He would go over the kata he had learned as a boy. He climbed trees, swam in the pond, anything to keep busy.

But nothing he ever did could block out the clawing loneliness.

He talked to the animals sometimes. They would sit near him, almost as if they could understand his troubles, the thoughts, wants, grievances, and wonderings he experienced. But it wasn't sentient contact. It wasn't enough to be real companionship.

He was so lonely.

So very lonely.

He would chuckle sometimes when he remembered the days when his face would scrunch up with disgust at the mention of girls, their nasty girliness and kooties, or worst of all, the idea of falling in love. As all little boys, he found the notion repulsive. Why would he ever want to be around a _girl?_ Why would he ever like one? They were so weird. They didn't like to wrestle, run, or play in the mud. The ones he met that did were usually downright mean and unpleasant to be around.

What he wouldn't give for anyone – even a girl, to be near him.

Childish foolishness.

Some days, he would lose his sanity for fleeting moments. He would just lie in the grass and stare at the sky, wondering if anything was actually real, or if it were a dream, and he were asleep somewhere else with a family right down some hallway that didn't exist. He liked to get lost in his imagination. Pretend that the life he lived was fake; that he was someone else. Maybe he went to school somewhere, or a job. Maybe he was in love with some girl without a face. Maybe he had friends that would slap him on the back and laugh with him at jokes that were never told. Maybe he was married and lived in the clouds. Maybe he had children, though he doubted his potential as a parent. Perhaps, he was still a mere boy, dreaming of the future while snuggled up to his parents. Maybe…Maybe…Maybe…

But, even hours later, he would sit up, and he would still be there. Caged.

Sometimes, he tried to clean the mansion, but it always ended up dustier than before, and eventually, he gave up. Sometimes, he wondered what people on the outside of the heavy black iron gates were doing, how technology had advanced, how clothing, hairstyles, customs, and all around culture had changed.

He wondered so many things. Despite his curiosity, he dared not consciously leave the gates. Some invisible force prevented him. He knew he could leave, but terrible things would happen if he did.

Yes, as has been established, Vegeta Ouji was a very lonely soul. A very lonely and immortal soul.

And he never figured out why he lived forever, or why he would wake up coated with blood on the roadside.

…

She set the newspaper down as she sipped her coffee. 'Another murder…All of the victims were like mafia members or something. Weird. Some kind of vigilante maybe? I wonder if it's a guy, or more importantly, if he's cute.'

She stood up and shrugged her jacket on before stepping into her shoes. "Well, whoever it is, they must have some kind of vendetta to make them so mutilated." She shuddered as she recalled the report's detailed description of the condition the bodies were found in.

But it didn't really concern her that much. So far the murderer's victims were all known violent criminals. Plus, she was moving out of the city soon. In fact, this was her last day at the office before she was to head outside the city limits for the countryside. There, she would start her long awaited profession as an inventor and part-time author.

As she clocked out for the final time, she waved goodbye to Yamcha, her once upon a time boyfriend and co-worker. She was glad they'd broken up last year. Sure he was nice enough, but he didn't have the depth or maturity she was looking for.

When she got to her small apartment, she tossed her boxed possessions in the car and handed the keys back to the landlord. She hopped in and began her two hour long drive to her new home. As she left the city, she pulled onto a faded paved road that soon gave way to dirt as it winded seemingly aimlessly through the forest.

She pulled into the driveway of the small domed house. It was surrounded by at least ten acre of land, most of it thickly forested. She pulled out her pillow and blanket, deciding to unpack the next day and sleep on the couch she'd already put in the building. Soon, she fell asleep for the night.

Bulma Brief woke up the next morning with a stiff neck, but ignored it as she put her few possessions away. It was roughly four in the afternoon by the time she was done. Glancing at the microwave clock, she decided she had enough time to go exploring a bit more thoroughly.

She tied her long hair back in a ponytail and slipped into a hoodie and sweatpants. Opting to explore the neighborhood since she had all the time in the world to investigate her own backyard, she began walking down the road.

She was slightly surprised to find that after walking two miles, she had yet to see a single house. However, that wasn't the strangest of it. There were places she'd seen where it looked like there had once been houses, but only the foundations were left. As if they just disappeared.

Eventually, she was about to give up when she felt something land on her head. Grasping it gently, she saw it was a cherry blossom, and looking up, she saw a tree coated with the buds crawling over the tall iron fence. Directing her gaze forward once more, she noticed a lock. It was ornate in design and very heavy duty. Whoever it belonged to, they didn't want visitors. Staring harder, she saw a wall, and a roof. There was something back there. Bulma jumped when she thought she saw a shadow move behind the curtain, but assured herself it was merely the wind.

She could not get in. The gate was locked. But as she walked home to begin making dinner, she decided she would return.

…

His heart was pounding as he turned his back to the wall next to the window. After a few agonizing seconds, he dared to peek, and sighed when she was gone.

Such blue hair. He wasn't able to see her very well from his vantage point, or with the short time he had to gaze at her, but this was the first person he'd seen in a long time. His breath was stolen. As soon as she left though, he felt his loneliness returning. It was even more painful now that he knew. That he saw.

She was beautiful.

The next day, she came at the same time. And the day after. And the day after. Soon, two weeks had come and gone, and he was obsessed. In those moments when his sanity would lapse, he would imagine talking to her. He would pretend to know her. He devised name after name for her but none of them fit.

He grew fearful that one day she would stop coming, so on the next day, he let her see his shadow in the curtain again.

He never smiled anymore. He never cried. He never displayed any emotion whatsoever. Why would he? There was no one to take note of it. To see what he felt. Over time, he forgot. It didn't matter the emotion that tore at his heart. His face betrayed nothing. His eyes however…

They sang everything.

That same night, he removed his person from the pond after a late night swim and dressed, not caring that he was soaking his clothes. He tilted his chin back and gazed at the stars. He simply stood there for a moment. Just listening. Remembering…

His vision went dark.

"Not…now…"

…

The man laughed as he left the woman there bleeding on the ground. His boss had arranged a meeting and he didn't want to be caught late. He kicked her head one last time before stuffing his hands in his pockets and riding away on his motorcycle.

She could do nothing but sob in silence as she bled. She was violated. Broken. Dead but breathing. She cringed as she heard footsteps. Two eyes stared down at her. She stared back, pleading him.

He complied.

The man left the corpse in the alley, not bothering to wipe her blood from his hands.

…

"As you know I've been doing some intelligence gathering on this guy. I took the liberty of hiring specialists. You know anything about this punk, you some straight to me, you hear. Other than that, you're all to keep going as planned."

…

The streets were empty. Everyone had gone to bed. His breathing was labored. He had to kill something. He had to feel dominance. Feel power. He turned the corner, and found exactly who he was hoping to, though he knew next to nothing about the man.

His eyes were practically glowing as he pointed at the rapist. The man started asking questions, babbling nonsense, but it didn't reach his mind as he advanced on him, his arm still extended, still pointing accusingly.

Kill.

Kill.

Kill.

"The fuck is wrong with you?" He finally pulled a knife and ran at him.

He side-stepped with ease. "You… Unworthy… Die now." His voice was more of a growl than anything.

The man flung himself at the man who was more like a demon, and surprisingly, he hit his flesh, grazed it multiple times. There were cuts across his chest, his arms…

And the man with a flame of black hair hadn't tried to avoid any of them.

The demon man merely stared at him with his face devoid of any emotion as he raised his hand to lick his blood off his hand.

He grinned.

The rapist screamed with pure terror. He was silenced by a strong and tightening hand on his throat. "Now, now. You wouldn't want to wake the children here, would you? That would be so impolite."

"I didn't do it! I swear! I just saw her and she was already like that! Don't kill me!"

"You're a pathetic liar. And either way, I don't care about what you did or didn't do," he whispered. "I…just…want…to," he gently took the blade from the stranger's hand. "Kill."

That night, mothers rushed to comfort their little ones, wondering whose muffled screams echoed through the rural part of town. The police, even with all of their experience, gagged at the sight of the body.

…

She couldn't sleep. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get over her excitement at seeing the shadow once more. She knew there was someone there! She just had no idea who. Deciding that rest would not come that night, she went to sit on the porch and listen to the nocturnal animals when suddenly she heard a scuffling.

Bulma sat upright when her ears detected panting, and forced steps on the gravel road. She ran down her driveway after grabbing a flashlight, and stepped onto the road.

What she saw made her heart stop for a moment.

Leaning against a tree was what had to be the handsomest man she'd ever seen. He was covered with a thin sheen of sweat. His hair was like a flame. He was well muscled, with his shirt clinging to his chest.

And he was terrifying.

Glaring at her, he was coated with blood, applying pressure to a wound on his stomach. But the glare only lasted a second before his teal eyes seemed to fade to black and roll to the back of his head as he collapsed to the ground, dead to the world.

She gasped. She dragged him into her house. She figured out that his shirt was actually white. Not red. There was so much blood to have come from just a few shallow cuts. She would ask him when he woke up.

For some reason, she didn't call an ambulance.

It was about an hour later that his eyes cracked open. He stared at the plain ceiling for a moment before she noticed. She rushed to his side as he sat up. He closed his eyes once more and put a hand to his head, trying to get a bearing on his surroundings, he looked around the room. There was a fire place, couch, kitchen through the door to his left.

Maybe everything really had been a dream. Maybe this was his real life. Maybe he was finally waking up.

He looked at his hand, and frowned with deep sorrow when he saw the same mark on his palm. Anchor like. It had not been a dream.

"Hey, are you okay? Who are you?" His eyes widened as his onyx eyes landed on her. She was the same one that came by every day.

Oh no.

Frantic, he stood, grabbed his damp shirt, and backed away from her. She was confused and worried; he could see as she got up as well and reached out for him. "I'm not going to hurt you. It's safe, really!"

He shook his head. "You weren't supposed to see…" He found the door and made a beeline for it, never taking his eyes from hers. "You can't see me!" He turned the knob and ran, and almost immediately was soaked by the rain that had rolled in. Not that he'd been particularly dry to begin with. He started running in the darkness. He had to get back. She couldn't know. She couldn't.

"Hey! Wait!" She ran after him, glad she hadn't removed her shoes as she chased the stranger in the rain, wearing her cotton pajama bottoms and "Rock Out" t-shirt. He was a great deal faster than her, even while injured. Still, she kept him in sight until he stopped and started to climb a fence and vanished over the other side. She halted where he had gone over and listened to his squishing footsteps and finally a door slamming shut. "He lives here?" she whispered to herself, finally noticing the same ornate lock she visited daily.

She was breathing heavily, drenched, tired, but she could care less. There was something weird going on, and she was going to find out what. She would learn who this guy was if it killed her.

Her resolution made, she went home to do some research.

…

He leaned against the door, trying in vain to catch his breath as droplets of water dripped from his chin to the floor. Silently, he cursed himself. How could he have let himself be seen? How could he have been so stupid?

How did he get these wounds? They were bandaged neatly. He decided not to worry about them.

She…She saw him. She knew he was there, he heard her following. Yet, he could not bring himself to think all was lost. There was that strange comfort at knowing he was acknowledged.

For once, he didn't feel so alone in the world.

But what was he to do at this point? She might tell someone. She could do any number of things and unintentionally bring chaos to him.

She…

She…

She was beautiful. His only company in the world, even if it was one-sided. That had been his first time, seeing her so close. Her vibrant cerulean irises and matching hair. Her delicate features and womanly body.

He wanted to meet her again.

He wanted to tell her everything.

He wanted her to be his friend.

But he couldn't.

He couldn't and he didn't even know why.

He stripped and put on fresh clothes before crawling into bed. Things were becoming unnecessarily complicated. He was having more black outs more frequently. He didn't want her to know about that. _He _didn't even want to know about that. His mother sometimes told him that there were some things that were best left unsaid.

He couldn't agree more.

His wants were conflicting with logic, but what logic was there to constantly locking himself up? A sudden fury swept through him. Why was he doing this to himself? Because of a feeling? It was absurd! How dare anything think it could control him! He felt rebellious. He wanted to break free from his cage.

…

She learned many things and found many references thanks to the internet. That baffling mansion belonged to the Ouji family long ago. That was about two centuries before current times. The place and small family was shrouded with secrecy.

There'd been the head of the household, Vegeta Ouji, his wife, and his two sons, Vegeta (named for him), and Tarble. They'd been fairly normal albeit rambunctious, people until the eldest son turned 20. Within that year alone, four of their neighbors' homes had been deliberately burned to the ground.

Within the next couple years or so, one by one, all those around them began to vanish. Then…

The mother was murdered. The reports Bulma found claimed that the two sons found her first, her body wrapped with a quilt, her arm clean off and burning in the fire place.

"How…awful."

And again.

The father was discovered by the youngest, hanging by the same quilt that made up the noose.

And again.

By the time young Vegeta was 25, their father had died a year earlier. Apparently, he'd been wandering the gardens, looking for Tarble.

He found him.

He was pinned to the shed with staples, beautiful, blooming red roses tucked into them. No one ever heard from Vegeta again after the funeral.

But that wasn't it. Not all of it. She went to a local art museum downtown from her old city the next day. After being granted access to the archives she found something. A faded family portrait. The oldest son…

And the man she'd helped the night before…

They were completely identical.

Well damn. She couldn't help but notice how, well, handsome he was. His flame of dark hair and seemingly endless ebony eyes were entrancing. She remembered how muscled he was from when she bandaged him, blushing lightly at the thought. His sharp features stood out. The man she saved the night before, she recalled, had a dark and sorrowful feel about him. He just seemed so tired. So…so…lonely.

Was he a ghost? No she could touch him, clearly feel his pulse. He wasn't dead. Maybe he was related to them somehow? Either way, she was pretty much at a dead end, so she snapped a picture of the portrait with her cell phone and left after thanking the elderly man at the desk.

When she finally pulled into her driveway, it was almost five. She tapped her chin in thought before grabbing a few things and leaving down the dirt road.

She took a deep breath as she gazed up at the glistening black gates, filled with anticipation and foreboding. She saw a familiar shadow from behind the second story window and knew. This was it. She was going to meet him. She was going to figure everything out.

_A/N: Hey there. So, I'm planning on this being pretty short. Just a few more chapters at the most. I just sort or had the idea. I'm just cranking out the Aus here. I'm kind of worried I might not finish them all…_

_Review!_


	2. Uncertainties and Revelations

Uncertainties and Revelations

The second he saw her silhouette, he sprinted from the window and ran out the back door into the gardens where he wouldn't be able to see her. Despite his recent streak of rebelliousness, he was still uncertain about what to do with her. He could push her away or get to know her, and let her know him. As he slowed to a stop in front of the fountain, he knew seeing her would not make his decision easier.

He stared at his reflection in the water, tormented by how he looked exactly the same no matter how many years passed. The same onyx eyes, widow's peak, flame of upswept charcoal black hair, defined chin, and no signs of aging whatsoever.

He was tired of being by himself. Tired of having only animals as his company. Tired of leaving things to his imagination to take the pang off the edge of his loneliness. But was that exhaustion enough to make him forfeit his secrecy? What if she was cruel? Told others of him? He wasn't willing to branch himself that far, but how would he ever know if he didn't try?

Apparently, just not looking at her wasn't enough. He voice carried over the stone wall easily. "Hello? I know you're in there," she called. "I want to talk to you! Come on out already! I'm not going to do anything bad, I swear!" Her voice was sweet to his ears. If music were candy.

He clutched his temples as if to stop himself from thinking about it. He was lonely, lonely, lonely. Isolated. Without human companionship and had been for over a century. His father, mother, and brother all gone. Taken from him by fate's black heart.

He cracked his eyes open, and as he gazed at his reflection one last time, his mind was made up.

Bulma huffed with frustration. She knew he was here, and she was dying of curiosity. She tried again. "Seriously! Just let me see you at least!"

"You should go home." She jumped at the deep masculine voice and looked up to find its owner crouched on a branch of the cherry tree.

Side-stepping the suggestion, she watched him from below. "Hi. You remember me don't you? From last night? My name's Bulma."

"I remember you," he stated. That was the name. That was the name he couldn't find in the hours he tried. That was the name that fit her. He hadn't moved an inch yet. Truth be told, he was nervous. This was the first conversation he'd had in who knew how many years.

She shifted somewhat awkwardly. "Well, who're you?"

"I have trouble remembering sometimes." Those lapses.

Most people just told her their name. "Uh…Well…Do you know your name then?"

"Vegeta." The same. She knew it was impossible, but she knew it was him. It was the same person in the portrait. There was no mistaking it. They were identical.

Pushing aside the many questions her mind was screaming at her to ask, she moved forward. "Can I come in?" He silently contemplated this. He'd already let himself be seen; why not? He leapt from the branch, and for a moment, she thought he'd simply left. She was about to start cursing her brashness when a hand made its presence known in front of her face.

He was crouched on the brick wall adjacent to the gate. His arm was extended, wordlessly telling her to grab on.

As she stared at the calloused hand, she couldn't help but feel that it was a big decision. If she took his hand, it would set something in motion. Something big. It would alter her future forever.

And she was right.

Still gripping her clutch, she took the offered appendage, and felt herself being effortlessly lifted. He showed no strain or discomfort. Before she knew it, she was on the other side. She gasped with delight at the sight of the hidden grounds. Blooming, free flowers were everywhere. Ivy crawled up the sides of the mansion. There was a fountain nearby, and the sound of small chattering animals could be heard.

Bulma was never one to be flamboyant or embellish.

But it was enchanting.

She looked at Vegeta without hesitation.

"Would you like a chocolate bar?"

…

"Where…Where…where oh where could you be?" He sang. The ground was lightly blanketed with loose fog. Crunching footsteps were barely audible. The headstones were visible under the moonlight.

"How taxing…You're not easy to find, you pest. Where are you?" The being shifted, eyes of red scanning the graves. He grinned. "There you are! Finally!" The man snickered to himself with his high-pitched screeching voice. He raised his arms over his head, holding the blade. He swung down hard and the stone was cut clean in two.

He snickered some more and grinned again over his shoulder. "Well, Zarbon, Dodoria? Aren't you going to get to it?" It was a threat, not a question.

They started digging.

…

He'd had chocolate before, but never had it been given to him wrapped in a metallic like and crinkly paper. When she pulled it out and handed it to him, he was confused. This brightly colored thing was not chocolate. So she laughed lightly and opened it up, asking how he'd never seen it before.

He didn't answer.

Then the questions came.

"So, you live here?"

"Yes."

"Does anybody else?"

"No."

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"A what?" He stared at her with confusion. True, he'd never consciously left the grounds, but he had no idea there were new terms. He'd expected jargon to change with each generation, but what in Kami's name was a girlfriend? A friend of the opposite sex? But her tone implied that it was more intimate. A wife, maybe? Hadn't he told her already that he live alone?

She looked surprised. "You don't know what a girlfriend is?" He shook his head. She tapped her chin in thought. "How do I explain this…? Oh! A girlfriend is sort of like the person you're courting if you a guy. A couple that isn't married is called boyfriend and girlfriend."

He nodded slowly.

"So I take it you don't have one?" He shook his head again.

It had been so long since he'd actually had a conversation. It was hard.

"What's today's technology like?" he asked. He couldn't help it. He was a curious person. She looked surprised again. He figured he would see that expression on her often if he kept it up.

"What do you mean? Like, what's been invented recently?"

"Within the last 100 years or so."

Her brows furrowed. "How old are you again?"

He froze. Here it came. He sighed, knowing she would figure it out sooner or later. He may not have been around people for a long time, but he knew lying never made things easier in the end from the novels in his library. It was best to get all of the hard truths out of the way at the initial introductions anyway, so he could see her real reaction instead a fake one if she got to know him for a while first.

So, he took a deep breath.

"203."

…

…

"What?"

He rushed to explain himself, though with calm. She couldn't think he was insane. She would go for help and he would be locked in an asylum. Surely they still had facilities for the mentally unhealthy? "I don't know why, really. I've been keeping track though. I was born 203 years ago on October 2nd."

Her head tilted slightly. She reached into her pocket and he tensed. She pulled out a strange device that was rectangular and green. It flipped open and she pressed several brightly lit squares that made beeping noises at her touch. She held it up to him…

And he found himself staring at the family he'd lost so long ago. His expression softened, his heart wrenching so that he didn't bother considering how this thing held that picture.

Bulma watched him as she showed him the portrait. She didn't know how, but this was the same man in the picture. He hadn't aged a day.

"That's you, isn't it?"

"…How did you get that?" He whispered.

She took her phone back and flipped it shut. "When I saw you in the window, I did some research, and found the portrait in the city's archives. What…if you don't mind my asking, that is… What happened?"

That simple question. She saw flashes of pain, grief, exhaustion, confusion…but most of all, she saw longing. He just wanted someone to be around him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. How was he supposed to explain it? How was he supposed to tell her of over a century of pain? How could he even revisit old memories without breaking down?

And you know what?

He had no idea.

Bulma watched him struggle. She'd seen the reports, and knew what happened to his family, and by the looks of his reaction, they were fairly accurate. She frowned. He was traumatized.

"Hey," she said softly, resting a hand on his muscular bicep. "It's okay. You don't have to answer me right now if you don't want to." He nodded. He wasn't ready to share everything yet, and that was okay.

So, they talked about other things. She told him about cars, the economy, culture, air travel, who the world leader was, medicine, art, books, politics, architecture, manufacturing, communication, computers, phones, and anything else she could think to tell him, or that he asked about.

Vegeta was in awe. He'd never imagined things would progress so rapidly. She told him of the wars that had been fought, diseases cured, treaties made, and anything else he could ask about. What grabbed his attention were things like the Industrial Revolution and World War II. India had gained freedom from England, Africa was in a state of terrible poverty, China was one of the world's manufacturing leaders… So much had happened.

"Is there equality concerning civil rights yet?"

"You mean women and people of different race?" He nodded. "By law, yeah. Although, there is still discrimination offered by individuals, pretty much everyone's equal, at least in this country. But there is that whole, women are actually paid less than men, homosexuals shouldn't be allowed to get married, and other things like that. It stupid how immature people can be. We're all human."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him smile lightly. Little did she know it was the first time he'd really smiled out of happiness in many years. "I always had wondered why women weren't allowed to vote and such… I'm glad though. I know my father married my mother because she had a backbone, and freely disagreed with him on certain matters. He respected her for it." She grinned at the treasured piece of information she'd gotten from him. He was happy women were equal, and she learned something about his family.

They talked for hours. He didn't have much to offer, but so much had happened within the last few decades that there were limitless topics to cover. Soon the sun began to set, and Bulma began to yawn.

"You should go home." She nodded, and stretched her arms over her head. She didn't want to leave. She liked being around this mystery man. She liked sitting in the middle of the garden, surrounded on all sides by wildly grown flowers. But alas, she hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, and it was catching up to her.

"Would you walk me there?" He shook his head. "Why not?"

Vegeta looked to the gate. "I can't leave."

"But yesterday, when I found you…"

He shook his head again. There was another big secret he would have to give away. Still, he'd read enough books to know what happened when one of the main characters kept something like that under wraps from someone. It never ended well, and he'd rather avoid the complication.

He looked at his hands, his eyes tracing over the odd anchor like scar burned into his palm. He sighed. Bulma watched him curiously.

"I…I can't leave for some reason. It's just that I think something bad will happen if I do. But…I black out, and when I wake up, I'm always lying on the road. And I'm always covered in blood. I don't know."

Her eyes widened. Instantly her mind went to the newspapers, the grisly murders, and his cold stare with teal eyes the night before. But he didn't know.

His story was far-fetched, even she could tell that much. She believed him though. He was too sincere. Lying seemed beneath him. He wasn't crazy. He was a lonely child that had been abandoned at the playground and left to wonder why.

He was sad.

He was happy she'd come.

He liked that chocolate bar.

And he needed a hug.

When he felt her slender arms around his neck, something inside of him tore away, and melded back into place with no cracks. When was the last time he'd been offered support and comfort? He couldn't remember.

He didn't realize he'd hugged her back until he felt a warm wetness on his cheek. His face held no expression, yet silent tears rolled. She felt them on her shirt.

"It'll be okay." Her voice did not waver or shake. She smiled as she said this.

"I thought I'd forgotten how to cry," he whispered nearly in awe.

"It would be sad if you really had."

"Why is that?"

"Sometimes, it's just better to let things go. Otherwise, they scar on the inside trying to get out."

"…"

"Vegeta?"

"I think I feel relief."

"That's good."

…

She yawned as she saved her notes and shut down her laptop. Checking her watch, she got up and started tying her shoes.

It had been almost another two weeks since she'd met Vegeta. In that time, she'd learned that he was unlikely to freely express himself the way he did on the first day ever again. She'd brought him books, little gadgets, and anything else she thought he would enjoy learning about whenever she went over, which was at noon everyday so that they could eat lunch and talk.

It amazed her how quickly he went through the books she brought him. He had an insatiable thirst for knowledge, much like her own. He seemed to like the work of H. P. Lovecraft, Joseph Campbell, and Mark Twain.

As an inventor she would present her prototypes, and he loved watching her explain her new ideas and trying to put them together in the gardens. She got a lot from bouncing ideas at him. It helped her sort her thoughts.

He ate a ridiculous amount.

He trained by running and swimming and such.

He was immortal.

Bulma loved him.

It was not the same fantasy crush she'd had on Yamcha at one point. No. This was so much deeper. It had only been a short amount of week but she knew. There was no doubt.

Which was why she was working. And working. And working. He didn't want to go on the way he had been. No. She wanted him to experience real life. Not a permanent hell. So she spent hours in her lab. Studying. Mixing. Experimenting.

She would help him. Then he would be happy. Then she could be happy too. They could be happy together.

But not forever.

Forever was not something she knew he looked forward to.

…

He plunged the knife into his abdomen, the young man's flame-haired silhouette doubling over with shock and pain. His eyes were wide, and he couldn't breathe.

Frieza Cold smirked cruelly above him.

The shorter male kicked him to the floor that was soon smeared with Vegeta's blood. He chuckled. 20 years old, he lay at the man's feet. His parents and younger brother were out at a party. He was alone with his father's believed business partner.

He wasn't supposed to be.

As his vision faded in and out, he registered his arm being lifted tenderly, and the crisp white sleeve being rolled up to his forearm.

Frieza pulled a syringe from his coat pocket.

It was glowing.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked sweetly. He licked his lips. Thunder shook the sky. "No? Well, let me tell you, Vegeta Ouji. Have you ever heard of the dragon balls? No again? They are magical orbs with the power to grant any wish. When all of them are collected, the mystical dragon, Shenron, will appear. Far-fetched, isn't it? I don't think so. For reasons that I don't want to waste time explaining to you, I could not have my wish granted." He leaned down, and put his lips to the bleeding man's ear. "Do you know what my wish was, Prince?" he whispered.

How dare he call him that. Only his family could use that beloved nickname.

"I wanted immortality." He backed away slightly, and inserted the needle into his arm. He did not push on the plunge. "The dragon could not give it to me. But, then I thought, "The dragon lives forever!" Within this is the crushed essence of the dragon balls. You're my experiment. Should you suffer no ill effects, I will take my own dosage. Be happy, sweet Vegeta. You will live forever. Never age. Witness the deaths and rebirths of the world." He started to inject the serum. Vegeta howled as the powerful substance began pumping through him. "Be happy."

After that day, though he did not remember it happened, Vegeta was not happy.

He was not happy when he found his mother beaten to death.

He was not happy when his father hanged himself.

And he was not happy when he found his brother stapled to the shed.

He was not happy again.

Until a certain blue-haired woman with a spit fire attitude and craving for knowledge came along.

…

_A/N: Okay. Wow. You guys seem to like this more than The Sea Girl. I'm glad, since I have to agree. Don't worry, next chap for that one is almost done._

_Plug Time: If you like yaoi, you may want to check out my friend, Wilted Passion's story, Locks and Keys. She told me she's about to update! Good character development and stuff._


	3. Fright and Might

She set down her cold bowl of cereal when the doorbell rang throughout her house. This was puzzling for a number of reasons. The first being that no one lived anywhere near her except for Vegeta, and she knew he wasn't leaving the Ouji Mansion anytime soon. She hadn't ordered anything online that would need to be delivered. She didn't have a mailbox since every letter she received was email.

And…for various reasons, she had a restraining order with the local pizza place after an incident with the delivery boy.

Let's just say that when it came to crude and inappropriate behavior, Bulma didn't just file a complaint.

When she opened the door, she was tackled by a pair of arms and excited shouts. "Bulma!"

"Oh my Kami! Chichi!" The two women jumped up and down as they squealed. They hadn't seen each other since their last high school reunion the year before. Glancing over her friend's shoulder, she saw her best friend waving and laughing as he held a small kid. "Goku! You lug! It's so good to see you! Hey, Gohan! How've you been, kido?"

"Really good. What about you, Miss Bulma?"

She giggled. "Always the little gentleman, huh? I'm doing great, as you can see. What brings you guys way out over here?"

Chichi sat on the couch and smoothed her dress. "Are you joking, Bulma? I went to call you and the number didn't work. So I called Yamcha to ask about you, and he said that not only had you moved out into the middle of nowhere and changed your number like you were in hiding from the FBI or something, but that you had dumped him! Don't you tell me anything anymore?"

The inventor laughed lightly as she plopped down next to her and she caught up with her old friends. After about an hour, Krillin showed up with a big surprise.

Bulma, Chichi, Goku, and even little Gohan all shouted in unison, "YOU"RE MARRIED?!"

The short bald man scratched his cheek nervously. "Yup. You remember that hot blonde I told you about in my mechanics class at the university?"

"Her?!"

"Turns out we actually have a few things in common."

They just about fell over at that. Goku clapped his friend on the back heartily. Gohan stared up at them with mild confusion. The two women exchanged a wary glance. Bulma placed a hand on her hip. "So, have you actually…you know…"

Krillin blushed.

"Of course he has," Juu said as she stepped in through the door behind her husband.

They talked and laughed and grinned for hours. Soon though, it was approaching that time of day Bulma would never give up for anything. She glanced at the clock. Bulma jumped to her feet with a surprised look. "Oh, sorry guys! I just remembered I have to meet someone soon and I need to get ready."

They left after many goodbyes and promises to call. The scientist gathered all of the books, gadgets, and other things Vegeta had seemed interested in, and left the house in a light jog.

After two miles, she approached the familiar black gate. She rattled it three times, their secret code, so to speak, and was soon lifted over the wall. She giggled as she took his arm and they went to sit by the pond.

When they got there, she saw books she'd given him piled under the shade of a weeping willow. Obviously he'd been there for a while.

The fish swam with grace under the water. The tree provided the perfect amount of shade. The flowers swayed gently in the breeze. Clouds passed with delicacy overhead. She sat next to him and smiled. He looked good in his royal blue hoodie and jeans. His old clothes had pretty much been falling apart, and as much as she would have liked to, she couldn't let him run around naked, so she got him some more modern clothes. No more white dress shirts and slacks.

She'd brought him new foods, candies, and other things to taste test. For some reason, he was particularly fond of minty chocolate.

"What are you reading now?" She peered over his shoulder to scan the pages he held in his lap.

"Stephen Crane."

"The Red Badge of Courage, huh? That's a good one."

"His definition of bravery is interesting; lacking all selfishness."

"I thought so too."

They ate their lunch quietly, talking about the history he had missed and other things. She told him about her friends' visit, and how exciting it was that Krillin and Juu were married.

They were enjoying themselves by the pond. As she watched him, she knew that she would do everything to help him. She had been taking mental notes about every little quirk and habit he had. From his confidence and ego, to his lurking intelligence. The way his lips would twitch with a smirk or smile. How the sun danced over his bronzed skin. The way his dark eyes lit with curiosity, and how his hair shifted slightly in the spring breeze.

She had observed that he was developing more expression. Years of isolation had not been kind to him, as he had almost forgotten how to smile and show any kind of emotion all together. She saw his relief that he still could, and that it was becoming easier and more natural to do so.

She was also pleased to find, that they could argue. Sometimes for over an hour, their verbal spars made her mind quick, and her tongue quicker. He never backed down, and amazingly, they never brought personal insults to their banter. They were both aware that if that was what they were reduced to, unable to counter a valid piece of logic, then the argument was lost, and there was no point in continuing.

She was hard pressed to find any real flaw to him.

She hadn't told him about her research yet, but she'd reached a dead end, and unless he could provide her with more information, she was stuck. He was finishing the last chocolate cookie when she prompted, "So, Vegeta, I've been thinking…" His dark eyes contacted hers once to let her know he was listening. "About your immortality, I've been doing some research – a ton, actually. I've been trying to put something together that would stop it, and let you age regularly, but I've hit a wall. Are you certain you don't remember anything about how it happened?"

Vegeta had spent years, watching the days go by, without a trace of new happiness that hadn't come from old memories. It was more than refreshing to have someone to spunk up his day. Every day she came without fail, and his heart would beat just a little faster at the sight of her. He only wanted to be near her, to hear her voice and watch her crystalline blue eyes dance with delight.

She had opened his eyes to a new world he had never witnessed, allowing him to look through her lenses. She had shared her inventions, ideas, wonders… She had been nothing but kind to him and he desired nothing more than to give back. But he had nothing. He had nothing but the weary strain of a life lived too long, the tattered visions of his family, emotional baggage, and his thoughts.

Thoughts had always been an amazing thing to him. He'd often pondered how he could hear himself inside his head, review tons of information, think, calculate his emotions and respond accordingly… it had amazed him when he was younger.

And now here she was, offering more. Peace. The ability to die. To move on. He couldn't comprehend it, how amazing she was.

So why was he suddenly so angry?

He was familiar with this anger. It was disconnected. As if it belonged to someone else, this was true in a sense. No, he wasn't angry with her. It was the memory of Frieza that evaded his consciousness that this mysterious other half of his was aware of that had him tensing with rage. He didn't know what it was that had him so mad, but he could sense that familiar lapsing.

And it scared him. He wasn't that naïve. He knew what he may or may not have been up to during those holes in his memory where there was nothing more than an insatiable thirst for carnage and dominance to fill their voids.

There was nothing he could do to stop it.

And Bulma was right in the line of fire.

"Vegeta…?" she asked meekly. When she asked, his eyes seemed to glaze over a bit, but that wasn't what had her worried. Those deep onyx orbs were slowly molding into emerald green, cold as ice.

He couldn't let it happen. He couldn't be alone again.

No alone… No alone… NO ALONE!

It was the only thought he could muster as he grappled with his own aggression in the recesses of his mind. The effort brought physical pain as he clutched his temples and shut his eyes tightly. He hunkered into a ball, and flinched away when Bulma reached out to him.

"Vegeta? What's wrong? You're scaring me," her voice trembled slightly, though she remained relatively calm.

He moaned softly as his skull felt like it was being squashed by two blazing suns as a sweat broke out along his brow.

E=Mc2. It was an amazing equation.

He blacked out for a moment, and knew there was no time left. "Leave!" He commanded this with a pained grunt as another wave of pressure made him want to yank his hair out to numb his scalp.

"But –"

"NOW!" He roared, matching her gaze with a ferocity that nearly stopped her pulse for a moment. His eyes had fully adopted the vibrant color, and his canines seemed longer and sharper than what was human. Never, ever, had he raised his voice at her like that, and she knew it was serious. The first day they'd met…

"_I…I can't leave for some reason. It's just that I think something bad will happen if I do. But…I black out, and when I wake up, I'm always lying on the side of the road. And I'm always covered in blood. I don't know."_

Her eyes widened as they both stood up at the same time. He dashed off into the thicket of the grounds that merged into the forest, while she ran in a dead sprint for the gate.

He only made it behind the house before he collapsed. Through the pain within his skull, his senses sharpened. He could hear, smell, feel, see, and taste everything. Hear her rapid footsteps, smell her nervous perspiration, feel the trembling in her heart, see the wind shift as it parted for her, and taste her fear. Vegeta's eyes turned completely emerald in color. He remained for a moment, before a cold smirk stretched across his lips as he rose to his feet.

He tilted his head back, and grinned almost insanely.

"Welcome back, Prince," he rasped.

She was fighting hyperventilation as she ran towards the gate. She wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but she knew enough to listen to him. Her pulse was racing and her heart had leaped to her throat in panic. She was almost there! Her hands grasped the cool metal and she shakily pulled herself up, only to be pulled roughly down by her ankle.

She hit the ground hard with a shriek, and her forearm grazed a rock, scraping her badly. There was laughing above her. It sounded so familiar, but at the same time, it couldn't be more opposite from that sweet baritone she loved. There was a tinge of insanity to that laugh, and it was dark, humorless.

Vegeta looked down at her with piercing green eyes.

No. Someone else stared at her with that morbid smirk.

That was not Vegeta.

"And just where do you think you're going?" Vegeta was still adjusting. He didn't speak that loudly or tauntingly. Except for that one time he took her stick of gum and dangled it above her head from a tree branch, just out of reach. But that was harmless teasing. This…this was different. It was frightening.

He circled her like a predator stalking its prey, his ebony hair never straying from its eternal flame shape. "For some reason, _he_ likes you. I don't understand it, but I suppose it's not worth the bother of trying to." He frowned when she just watched him with fear in her eyes. Lunging, he grabbed her upper arms and hoisted her to her feet, pinning her to the gate. He looked her up and down, wondering about his next move. " No… I don't think I'll kill you yet. That might cause some trouble for me later on…" The way he spoke so casually of it…so mockingly… It was terrifying. "Come now. What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

"You're not Vegeta," she whispered.

"No. No I'm not. I'm someone quite different. I don't care about being lonely. I don't keep living in the past. What I want is merely power. I could care less about the curses of living forever. In fact, I'm glad that lizard face injected him with that serum. I would never have been born if not for that. Call me, Prince."

He laughed again and flashed her a wink before climbing up the gate and running down the road. Give or take, he probably had about seven hours. Just enough time to have some fun in the city. Though, he couldn't understand why it had taken him so long to wake up in the first place, he wasn't complaining now.

As soon as the thudding of his footfalls no longer reached her ears, Bulma sank to her knees; the effort of holding her own weight had become too much. She stared at the mansion for a moment before a choked sob wracked her delicate frame, followed by several more.

Hot tears slid over her cheeks as she put her hands to her mouth in desperate attempt to silence her sobbing. Never had she been so scared in her life. Her beating heart had threatened to leap out of her chest.

But that wasn't the worst of it. No. The most horrible thing was that now she knew without a doubt. The murders had been his doing. Her Vegeta…

No! Not her Vegeta! That was someone else! She had seen his eyes! It wasn't him…

She looked up again.

_Her_ Vegeta?

…

He sped down the road, the engine roaring. A few months ago, a biker had made the mistake of trying to break into the mansion when he was awake. He reached the city within an hour and a half. He parked in an alley and walked along the sidewalk, heading for the west side.

He'd planned it just right. Had he clawed for control so much as a day later, he wouldn't have this opportunity. He climbed the fire escape of an apartment building, and peered in slightly through one of the windows. In the coming heat of the summer, they'd cracked the window.

"He's gonna be pissed! It's been over a month and we've got nothing on him!"

Another man in the far corner waved him off. "Who cares? Frieza's gone off the deep end anyway. There's no way he knows this guy. And besides? Bastard hasn't shown his face for a while. Maybe he's dead. I don't think we got nothin' to worry about."

Another stood. He had skin so poorly tanned it was orange, and lengthy white hair. "So, what? We just tell 'im he's dead?"

"Don't see why not. It's believable enough. Car accident sounds nice. There're plenty of those. I'm sick of this goose chase."

His emerald eyes glistened with amusement. He lifted the window and stepped through, smirking at the stunned expressions the men wore. "A goose, am I? And here I thought I was more of the lion type."

"Cap'in Ginyu! It's him!"

"Well what the fuck are you waiting for than!? Give 'im a new asshole in his forehead!" The five pulled their guns from their hips and started shooting.

Prince spread his arms and let the bullets hit him, grinning all the way. People in the building heard the gun fire and called the police, fleeing the scene with screams of panic. After the men had expended at least half of their ammunition, they stopped, and watched the scene before them unfold in complete horror.

His flesh was mangled, bleeding, and twisted from the bullets. His head was tilted all the way back, and the light cinnamon carpet was quickly turning crimson with his pouring blood.

And then he started laughing. An orange glow encased his body as he slowly looked at them, the wounds disappearing. The aura faded, and he held out his hand, clenched in a fist. His calloused fingers uncurled, and more than thirty bullets collided with the floor.

The moon was full.

…

The dust billowed up heavily after the car as it sped by. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the wheel, and she could still feel the tear stains on her cheek.

But she wasn't crying anymore.

She was tuned to the radio, listening for police reports and such. In the seat next to her, there lay a gun, loaded with five tranquilizer darts. She'd never claimed to be a good shot, but Bulma possessed enough skill to hit a moving target if she tried.

She was approaching the city limits, and with each second that passed, the knot in her stomach grew tighter.

Bulma had regained a new resolve after Prince left her in the garden. She couldn't let Vegeta go on like that. It pained her too much. She couldn't allow Prince to get caught, and in turn, Vegeta. If anybody else ever found out about him, he'd be no better off than a lab rat. Besides, no one else could die because of him.

The static became louder and she glanced at the console with eagerness. "All available units to the Rainy Apartment Complex off of 6th street. There is a shooting underway! No further details available. I repeat: all available units to the Rainy Apartment Complex off of 6th street."

"Bingo!" She swerved a hard left, and accelerated towards the scene.

She needed him. Despite the grim situation, she felt hope. She had to get to Prince first.

Because he held the answers she was looking for.

_A/N: Oh my! What will happen next?! Poor Vegeta. And that's not even the worst of what I have planned. A deep, dark, terrible secret! A memory of his so horrible it will –! Oh, sorry. Got ahead of myself there. Don't want to give it away now, do I?_


	4. Who's Who

"Who are you?" The chains rattled.

"Come now," the voice teased as the footsteps grew closer. "Surely you've seen a mirror before, Ouji." His grin was wide. His eyes were green and inviting.

"That doesn't make sense."

"Then why don't you let it? You're a curious person. Let me show you that hidden truth." The cuffs dug into his wrists but he looked up. Up at the stranger that looked just like him. Except he did not have poisonous green eyes.

Tendrils of shadows twisted up out of the cold floor, and wrapped around his body. He didn't seem to mind much, even as they began to pull him through the ground.

Everything went silent. Then the stranger spoke again.

"Let me show you the face of your brother's killer."

…

Earlier that night…

He looked down at the surrounding police cars with contempt. The lights were still flashing, their guns leveled at the building, and demands being made for him to step out with his hands up. He glanced briefly at the bodies surrounding him, sighing. He was getting frustrated.

"I suppose I should have thought this through a bit more thoroughly. Still, I did make a wonderful entrance…"

He stepped out of the room and into the hall, hands in his pockets. "Fantastic. It's only a matter of time before they decide to raid this damn place. And speaking of time, I only have about four hours left, and even that's a stretch. What's been making it so hard to get control lately?"

He stopped and kicked down the door to a different room. He was on the top floor. There was a shape on the roof of the building across the alley way. Looking more closely, he saw that it was a woman. He ducked out of sight as she aimed some type of projectile.

He peeked around the corner, and found a small harpoon attached to a cable imbedded in the brick wall. The clothing lines would conceal him from the law enforcement. The woman stood.

"Are you coming or what, asshole?"

As he stepped out onto the wire like a relaxed tight-rope walker, that cocky grin eased back into place. "Ah, so you came. Sorry to disappoint, but he's not back yet. Most likely not for a few hours."

"That's fine. I need you right now anyway." Bulma retracted the cord and started walking for the exit.

He was glad that her back was to him, because she didn't see the genuine surprise on his face. Reluctantly, he followed. "What's your angle?"

"I want answers. You have them."

"And you believe I will give them up so easily?"

She unlocked her car, shaking her head at the morons that were just deciding that they should go up after him. "I figured that you owe me."

He laughed as he slid into the passenger's seat. "Owe you?! I owe you nothing!"

"Well then," she said evenly. She pulled the gun out of her purse and aimed it at him. "I guess I'll just have to force it out of you."

"You think that will do anything? I'm immortal. That won't do shit." She pulled the trigger. Suddenly, he felt very drowsy.

"I think it'll just put kitty down for a nap."

When he woke up, he was still Prince. That much she could tell from his eyes. He was sitting on her couch while she sipped some tea in the armchair across from him. His vision slowly adjusted, and he found himself incredibly agitated, but also very calm. "You're not the same."

She set her cup down. "You're right. I'm not…" She took a breath. "I won't lie, I was terrified. But honestly, that's what motivated me. Vegeta has to live with you. I can't even imagine what you do to him."

He scoffed.

"Answer my questions."

Prince glared at her. "I'm curious. Why do you care so much? Really, neither of us are that impressive. We're just broken. Two halves that can't ever be whole – especially when one of those halves was never truly meant to exist in the first place."

"I love him."

He looked not doubtful, but unaffected. "Really," he drawled.

"Yes." He looked at her through squinted eyes, as if he were prying into her mind.

"Now I'm really interested. Go on. Let's see where this goes."

"What happened? Why are you immortal?" He seemed to pause for a moment, examining her cold, determined stare as she frowned.

"I believe it was a slimy lizard. Frieza." She urged him on. "Vegeta does not possess the memories of that day. The day that I was born. But I do. His brother and parents were out, and his father's business associate decided to drop in for a surprise visit. Of course, things didn't go well, and Frieza didn't play fair. One stab wound, and an injection containing the essence of the fabled "Dragon Balls" as he called them. He said I was his test subject. When it entered the bloodstream, the negative energy split us apart, but contributed much to my existence, which is why I am not wholly a part of Vegeta. Frieza gave it to himself as well, but for some reason suffered none of the same effects. Just what he wanted. There's your answer."

"What are Dragon Balls?"

"How the hell should I know?"

Bulma seethed. She slammed her hands on the coffee table and stood abruptly. How could anyone do such a thing to him? To anyone? "So that's it? You're made of evil, negative energy, right? Is that why you slaughtered people like some heartless monster?! Is that why you torture Vegeta like this?!"

His eyes widened. And then, he was very angry. He rose to his feet as well, though in a much more threatening manner. "SHUT UP! What the fuck would you know about me anyway?! _He_ gets all of the emotions! _He_ gets to remember what things were like before! The good things! And yet all he does is pout and whine about how fucking _bad_ everything is! How it's so horrible to be alone! I have to listen to him day in and day out. He has no _idea_ what real solitude is! He can remember what it was like before! I have none of that! Only carnage and blood."

"Prince," she gasped.

"No! You listen to me, you _bitch_! You may claim to love him, but he's weak! _I'm_ the one who carries all of the rage and sadness and pain! _I'm_ the one who holds all of the bad memories! So don't you go around saying that I _torture_ him! _I'm_ the only reason he's not a walking _corpse_!"

"I-I…"

He was panting, staring at the floor. And then, Bulma knew she had done something terrible.

Because he started to laugh. He laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed. He threw his head back and roared with the humor he found.

"You know what?" She didn't like it. He wasn't sane in that moment. Maybe it was that crooked glint in his eyes, or the way his voice raised an octave, but he was insane.

"You're right! I _am _a monster! I'm everything bad and ugly and cruel in this world! And you know what else?!" She didn't answer. She was too stunned. He laughed some more. "I don't deserve that love! That weak disgusting thing you offer him! I don't deserve anything nice or pretty! I'll just burn it to the ground! Make it scream! I _am_ just a beast!"

She sank to her knees. "Prince, please…I didn't mean that. You're not bad." She had to calm him, make him think clearly. She hoped playing the pitiful girl in desperation would make her seem less threatening, but that wasn't the problem.

He snickered. "Bulma," he sang. "I have a secret." An orange glow enveloped him. He kneeled in front of her, and took her chin in his hand. He leaned in close enough so that his lips grazed her ear when he whispered.

"I killed Tarble." He leaned back, and the green began to fade from his eyes. "I think I should tell him, since I'm nothing but a monster."

"NO! Prince! Don't!" But it was too late. As she shook his shoulders, he fell limp, and she knew she had just guaranteed Vegeta the worst imaginable pain possible. "Oh Kami, no…"

…

"Let me show you the face of your brother's killer."

…

It was light out. Their father's funeral had come and gone. It was just them. The Ouji boys. They were trying to ingrain some sense of normalcy back into their daily lives. Trying to act like their parents hadn't just died. Like Mom hadn't been murdered, and Dad hadn't killed himself.

It was working, but not. Vegeta set down his book with a heavy sigh. Tarble was sitting at the fountain, just staring into the water like he hoped to be pulled down.

"What are you doing?"

He shook his head. "Vegeta, we'll be all right, won't we?"

He crossed his arms and scoffed. "That's a ridiculous question. We're not children anymore. Of course we will."

He smiled, and nodded. "Hey, you remember that girl I was telling you about? After that burglar stabbed you while we were at that dumb party?"

"Yeah…"

"I think I like her."

"That short pale one? Gure?"

He blushed lightly. "Uh huh."

Tarble looked pained for a moment before he composed himself. Vegeta watched with interest, waiting patiently. "I… I saw the papers in your room. You're trying to figure out who killed Mom, aren't you?"

He frowned. "Tell me that you honestly haven't had the same thoughts."

Tarble furrowed his brows and stood. He shook his head. "No. I haven't."

"Really?" His voice trembled slightly. And it rose steadily as he spoke. "You haven't once thought of making that bastard pay? You haven't once wanted to find them, and make them suffer for doing that to her? Tarble, you saw it. They didn't just kill her. She was barely recognizable!"

His lower lip trembled, and Vegeta thought that the collar of his brother's shirt looked much too tight. "Of course I have!" His eyes were wet, but he did not cry. "You think I don't want justice?! I do! But she wouldn't have wanted us to waste our lives on the loss of hers! Not like Dad!"

"Don't you dare compare me to him!"

"Why not?! Isn't it the same thing? Either way it's a loss of life, Vegeta!"

"Well, tell me what's left then. Now that they're gone, I have to run the family business. I have to take care of damage control. At least there's someone for you to live for." He looked away, and watched his distorted reflection in the water.

"That's not true. You have me. And you'll find someone too. But not if you start pursuing revenge and conspiracies. Life's short. I just don't want you getting wrapped up in something you'll regret later."

"Short? Then why are the days getting longer and longer?" His frown was gone, replaced with a bittersweet, yet grateful smile.

"This will pass. It's just us now. I say we enjoy it." They crossed their forearms in brotherly salute. Vegeta went inside to nap, his heart slightly lighter in his chest.

…

"What have I done?" She had dragged his body to the couch, waiting for him to wake up screaming or crying. Tensing with every moment that passed. "Prince wasn't evil… He was just…angry. And I went and said that to him…"

She ran a hand through Vegeta's hair.

"You're kind, sad, gentle… Prince is mad, frustrated, loud… I can't believe I didn't see it sooner. I'm sorry. You two need to be whole again. Otherwise…"

She pulled out some books, some above college level psychology, others, ones she hadn't seen since she was a little girl, sitting on her father's knee while he told her fairy tales.

"I'll make this right. Now that I know what's wrong, I can fix it. But you're going to have to pull it together too. No more sitting around waiting."

His eyes shifted beneath his lids.

"You're going to be so upset when you wake up… He shouldn't be showing you like this, but I can't blame him. He's only ever gotten the bad things. You're lucky, Vegeta. Someone to take all of those hits for you. It's time for you to take some of those hits on your own though."

…

'_I remember all of that…That was the last time I saw him…'_

He was reaching the part. He was about to lay down, when a sudden pain flashed though his skull. This was Prince's first appearance.

He twisted his fingers in his hair and collapsed onto his knees by the bed, groaning and clenching his teeth. But it was different this time. This time, he didn't pass out. He was still conscious, but at the same time, he was not.

There was nothing. No thought. No plan. Just a burning rage, and a tightening. He had to move. The room was closing in on him. He had to kill.

Kill. Kill. Kill…

There was no order to what he did. He simply burst out the front door, running someone over.

"Vegeta! What's wrong?" He staggered back, clutching his head as the remaining pains dulled. He looked up, into Tarble's eyes. The younger took a step back, confusion and fear printing itself on him. "…Vegeta…'Geta. C'mon, what's wrong? Snap out of it." Prince began trudging towards him as he tried to bring his brother to his senses.

Kill…Kill…Kill.

Then they were running. The younger man was light on his feet as he ducked under bushes and through branches. But Vegeta was older. Faster. Stronger. He jumped up, and swung himself onto a large tree branch, and began climbing as high as he could. If he could reach the top before Vegeta, he could wait him out. It would only hold his weight.

However, Prince saw through him. He grabbed their father's axe from the tool shed, and started at the trunk. "Vegeta! Vegeta, stop! You're not yourself!"

He kept hacking away at it. Soon, the tall plant began to sway, and he lost his grip, plummeting to the ground. He smacked branch after branch, hitting the ground hard. He broke his wrist, and his ribs punctured a lung, causing him to cough up some of the substance.

Vegeta could only feel his blood rushing with adrenaline from the hunting of his own brother. It made him sick.

Prince, still pumped with primal blood lust, stood over him as he clutched his chest on the ground. He raised the axe. Tarble looked up at him, blood dribbling down his chin, face scratched. Vegeta saw that even though his body stood, ready to kill, there was love in his eyes.

Splat.

Inside the memory, Vegeta quaked, eyes wide. He was still living through Prince's eyes. It seemed then that the urge calmed, and his mind cleared.

"Oh…" Prince crouched down, tugging on his arm, prodding him. He then stood back up, and placed his palm over his chest, eyebrows furrowing with puzzlement. "What…is this? It's…warm." He glanced back down at Tarble and the blood soaked leaves surrounding him.

"There is affection for him." He picked him up, cradling his limp form. "If there is affection for him, then he should look nice." He set him down one he reached the shed, gathering twine.

He bound his appendages, one by one to the shed, ever so carefully. He took a step back to admire his work. "…Still missing something." The roses to his left caught his eye. He took their elegant blooms, and arranged them so beautifully around his wrists, neck, and arms. "There."

His brows furrowed once more, and again, he put his hand to his chest. "Why does it hurt?" His vision blurred, and Vegeta felt himself more familiar.

With one emerald, and one onyx eye, Prince Vegeta stared, not breathing. There was no sound. Then there was a roaring, building up from the back of his head.

It took him five minutes to realize that it was his screaming.

…

She looked up at him as she heard a sharp intake of breath, and his eyes opened. Black this time. Inwardly, she cringed, waiting for the panic or the yelling or the crying. But he just sat up, a hard and cold expression on him, and leaned his elbows on his knees, hands folded.

For a moment, she was hopeful that Prince had not shown him, but that hope was burned when he finally spoke. His tone, dead.

"Did you know that he was in love?" She said nothing. She just listened. "He kept talking about her after that night. He said that when he finished school and got a job, he was going to marry her. It made me happy. He was moving on, even though our parents were dead. Somehow, he just did it.

On the day he was murdered, we argued. I wanted revenge and justice. I was trying to find the person that killed her. I wanted them to hurt. He told me that he didn't want anyone else to die, and that if I devoted my existence to something like that, I'd be giving up my life for their deaths. He was right.

We were fine. We were getting better. But then I just got angry for no reason. When I came out of it, he looked like a piece of art. There were roses, and his blood looked like paint."

His voice cracked. He winced.

"I'm the artist."

Bulma remained quiet. She merely hugged him. She squeezed him so tightly, like she wanted to squeeze the unhappiness out of him. He didn't move. He was practically catatonic.

"It's okay. You never meant to. He doesn't hate you for it."

"No. He doesn't. And somehow that makes it worse." She kissed his temple. Whispering that everything would be okay. That he had to be strong. That he wasn't alone.

Vegeta took his hand, and gazed at it like it was foreign to him, before placing it on his chest. "It hurt him more."

"I know. He's been hurting too. But we'll patch both of you back up."

He smiled lightly.

_A/N: Wow. And you guys really hated Prince, didn't you?_

_Oh my goodness that took so long! I love high school, but I have all honors classes and water polo practice, so I am super busy and super tired a lot. But it's fun! Almost done with another chap. for TSG. _


	5. Piece by Piece

Piece by Piece

He was just floating, eyes half-lidded, not really thinking, trying to ignore the tugging at his vacant heart.

Yes, their voices were muffled. Yes, trying to look was like trying to see something through murky water. But he could make out the shapes and sounds of this scene. He could feel the ghost of her touch as she offered her comfort and steadiness to him

To Vegeta.

Not Prince.

He was calmed now. His earlier rage and hurt dwindled. He was thinking clearly again, and he came to realize something. He regretted it. He regretted showing him that. For as long as he could remember, he'd kept his memories separated. He'd protected, sheltered even, this person he hated so much. He didn't know why.

But that wasn't the whole deal. There was something else monumentally important. He was jealous. He was so furiously jealous of him that he could appreciate company of the past, and the love of this strange woman.

He had nothing like that.

There was only anger and bloodlust and pain.

He was so tired. Gods above he was just so tired. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to forget everything, and never wake up.

So he closed his eyes, and let the water pull him under in a soothing sleep. In a drowning sleep.

And the pain in his chest wasn't real. Just another shadow under the murky water.

...

Vegeta didn't go back to the mansion. He didn't even remove himself from Bulma's sofa for the rest of the night. He simply stared at his hands in absolute awe at how filthy they were. How red they truly happened to be.

Of course, Bulma had expected this kind of behavior. After all, he had just found out that he had ruthlessly slaughtered his own brother.

But it was morning, and she was sick of waiting. But he was depressed, and had no motivation. But she had investigated the Dragon Balls, and was eager to share her new information. But he was moping, and had no desire to do much of anything.

Imagine who won.

The argument went something like this:

"Vegeta, get up."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"No."

"Quit pouting like a little kid. Get your butt up, mister."

He closed his eyes. Hers twitched.

Krillin would have said that they were acting like they were married.

"I need you to help me figure out how to fix this. I learned a lot from Prince and I was able to research it!" He sat up at this. But not for the reason she thought.

"Who?"

She slapped her hand to her forehead and threw down the books and articles she'd gathered. She took a deep breath and tried to calmly explain. "What do you mean, 'Who?' He's your other personality or whatever!"

He laid back down. "I didn't know he had a name." Her eye twitched again. So, being Bulma, she did something impulsive that most people would think twice about before doing.

She jumped on him. And grabbed his collar. The universe rolled its eyes. "You're being absurd! Listen to yourself! Your acting like a five year old! Stop with the whining and moping and get your shit together! You're not a lost cause! This can get better but you have to work at it." She leaned in very close. She had his full attention.

All of it.

Vegeta nodded and sat up, but didn't pull her off of him. "You're right."

It then seemed to dawn on her what position they were in. "Uh, Vegeta..."

"Hm?" His hands rested on her hips.

"Did Prince, ah, by any chance, show you anything else? You know, that might help?" She said this nervously, with a forced smile. Her hands had loosened around his collar. She looked closely, and saw something different in his eyes. Somehow, they were...burning. The same onyx color, and unfathomable depth, but they were more alive.

_"I love him."_ That was what she'd told Prince so easily. His other half. She couldn't help but wonder, 'Did he show him what I said?'

"Yes, he did. But I'm not sure if it's particularly useful," he answered calmly. There was mischief on him.

"O-oh. Really? What was it?"

He smiled slightly. Since sharing the memory, he felt...not closer, but more connected to his other half. And he felt more alive since she'd gone and yelled at him.

He ventured to guess. Prince had shown him nothing else, but she was hiding something from him. "You...did something I find interesting," he drawled.

She gulped. 'That bastard.' Taking a deep breath, she jumped to no conclusions. "What was it I did?"

The tension was thick. Vegeta's expression did not change. His hand slid up to hold her lower back. She knew it. She knew Prince had shown him, and if so, then this was a clear sign, right? If he didn't, then he wouldn't be this close, would he? Would he?

"You - " But she cut him off.

Her lips were warm against his. They stayed there lightly, waiting for him to return or pull away. 'So that's what it was...' He fell back down on the sofa, and pulled her with him, returning the kiss with such force that she gasped. Her hands slid over his chest and his fingers tangled in her hair.

When they broke for air, she was smiling so brightly it almost hurt him to look directly at her. "He didn't show me anything other than Tarble," he admitted. For a moment she thought she'd be angry, but then she laughed and hugged him, her face buried in his neck.

"Do you...really feel the same?" He responded by wrapping his muscled arms around her tightly.

...

_From the other side of the gate, she waved good bye, promising she'd be there the next day. He nodded, and went back to the pond to read. But as much as he focused, his mind wandered. Her face appeared everywhere he looked. _

_Eventually he gave up and wandered the grounds. They offered him no answers. He tried to pull up anything helpful. Words of wisdom from his parents..._

Vegeta: 8 years old.

His father laughed boisterously at the question. Love? It seemed so simple. He ruffled the boy's hair and knelt in front of him good-naturedly. "Let me tell you something, my son." Little Vegeta grew serious, nodding. "You'll know that she's the person for you when you can't think about anything else. And even if that's not enough to convince you, you'll know if she cares enough to slap you in the face."

He rubbed his cheek at the thought. "Are you sure? When Zorn's daughter came to play the other day, I threw a frog at her and she slapped me. I don't think I really like her at all."

He chuckled, and sat, dragging him to sit on his lap. "That's something quite different, Vegeta. You'll figure it out."

He frowned in thought, but these things were complicated, and could only capture the attention of an 8 year old for so long. "If you say so."

"Good." His father stopped smiling. "Now what's this throwing frogs at girls business?"

"Uh..." He tried to jump up and get away, but the man already had a firm grip.

"You're mother will not be happy about this!"

_He'd not forgotten the thrill of seeing her for the first time. Of hiding behind the curtain on the second floor, waiting in anticipation for her crown of blue hair to become visible on the other side of the gate. He'd not forgotten his obsession. He'd not forgotten the relief of no longer being alone._

_Vegeta smiled with nostalgia. He climbed to the top of a hill and sat under a tree as he watched the sun disappear below the horizon._

_"You were right, I suppose."_

_The wind blew gently._

_'I guess that means I love her...'_

...

"So that's what happened..." They sat cross legged on her floor, papers, books, and empty coffee mugs strewn about. Vegeta had changed into a pair of sweat pants and blue T-shirt Bulma had for him. She leaned against the sofa where they'd been making out just two hours earlier with a blanket crumpled in her lap. She'd just finished explaining what Prince had said happened with Frieza. "It wasn't a burglar after all."

"My theory is that first we need to connect you and Prince so that you're one person again."

"But didn't he say that the negative energy from these things contributed to his existence? That's not from me."

"I'm not so sure about that part, or if it's even true. We know that the memories he told me about are pretty accurate, but I'm not sure if the Dragon Balls would have done much more than separate you and prevent your physical body from aging," she explained.

"And how's that going to happen?" She tilted her head in thought.

"Well, I've been thinking... Ever since Prince shared that memory with you, you've gotten more expressive. You have some touches of his traits I guess. So, if we can get him to share more memories with you, that might repair the link."

"And what if I start to kill people like he does?" He looked at her seriously. That possibility was a very real one, and he was not going to risk it.

"Before Frieza did this, did you ever want to kill someone?"

"No," he said honestly.

She shrugged. "Then I'm guessing it's a side effect from the Dragon Balls."

He set down the book he'd held a moment ago. "There's just one problem. I have no idea how to communicate with him."

She frowned. He noticed the way her lower lip stuck out in a light pout when she did. "I guess we can just wait for him to take over again, and I can talk to him."

"That could take months."

"It's better than nothing."

His eyes trailed after her as she went to put their mugs in the dishwasher. He felt more free to admire her beauty now that they were...whatever they were. He smirked. She was right. Despite the horror of the memory Prince had shown him, he did feel more alive.

He had to thank him for that.

He stood and stretched his arms above his head, then followed into the kitchen. She asked him if he wanted lunch, and set about making sandwiches for them. When he thought about it, things were almost...normal for the time being.

They ate, and pretended they were going to keep searching for clues, but after a few minutes, they were back on the sofa.

Doing guess what.

Their tongues fought and they let themselves fall into passion. Vegeta was kissing her neck and pinning her under him.

Then the doorbell rang.

Startled, Bulma went to leap up and answer, but ended up smacking foreheads with Vegeta. He rolled off her as they both rubbed their heads and she went to get the door.

Somehow, she wasn't surprised that it was Goku that had interrupted such a wonderful moment. Coming up behind him was Chichi, holding Gohan's hand. Trying not to look too flustered, she smiled. "Hey, what're you guys doing out here?"

"Just thought we'd visit," said Chichi as she climbed the porch steps. Bulma let them in, and was, again, not surprised to find Vegeta grumbling as he leafed through papers about split personalities. "Oh, who's this?" she asked.

He looked up at these new people, and vaguely remembered Bulma telling him of her friends from school.

"Oh, yeah. Chichi, Goku, Gohan, this is Vegeta." He just looked at them.

As they sat down to engage in good conversation, Goku picked up one of the articles. His brows furrowed. "Ne-oo-rology? What's that?"

Bulma took the paper from him. "Neurology. Brain stuff."

Chichi looked confused as well. She grabbed some books and scanned their titles. Vegeta sat down next to Bulma. "Bipolar Disorder, Split Personalities, Ancient Fables? Bulma, what is all of this?"

"Oh! Well, you see, Vegeta is a neuroscientist, and we were trying to figure out the effect of fairy tales on the brain. Yeah." Vegeta cocked his brow and shot her a questioning look. "Right, Vegeta?" He rolled his eyes.

"That's really interesting! How did you meet?" Goku was pretending he didn't want to raid the fridge, and Gohan listened dutifully to the adults' talk.

She smiled nervously. "Ah, well, we uh met at the mall." She laughed. Vegeta wondered what a mall was. "Yeah, I was in the food court, and I tripped and got my smoothie all over him. It was a real mess. But we started talking and we thought we could work together."

He was looking back and forth between Bulma's guests. His throat seemed to close up, and the room seemed much hotter than it had been a few minutes earlier. He'd gotten used to Bulma easily enough, but suddenly sitting in a room with three strangers and trying to fabricate a believable story to explain their association had him choking.

More connected to the rest of himself or not, he'd spent over one hundred years without talking to more than one person at a time. He didn't know how to talk anymore.

Then his head slowly began to pound. He closed his eyes for a moment and cradled his left temple for a moment before slowly standing, and staggering out of the room. He was unaware of the bewildered stares of the Sons, and the worried one of Bulma's.

The pain got worse as he moved. He remembered the scent of Tarble's blood mixed with that of the pine he'd cut down to kill him.

He felt tired.

Eventually he found Bulma's room and collapsed on her bed, holding his skull with both hands while his eyes were clenched shut. The pounding was louder, following his heart beat with agonizing synchronization.

Bulma looked after him as he rounded the corner, and Goku was watching her expression. He may not have been the brightest person around, but he knew people. And that was not the look a woman sent after just a colleague. There was something else going on.

"Uh, I should go check on him, guys. Just give me a minute." She got up and went after him.

Goku smiled.

...

The pain wasn't real. That was what he thought. And it was amazing. He didn't think he'd ever had a thought like that before. It was just one thought. Not two. Not half with the other missing. It was one thought.

And it was one thought, because they were both thinking it as one.

He was vaguely aware of Bulma kneeling beside him. Of her cool slender hands on his forehead, checking for a fever. He was also aware of how clouded his eyes must have looked. How unfocused they were. How they stared at blurry shapes in her room with no comprehension as to what they were called.

He sort of heard her shooing her friends out the door with obviously fake and rushed politeness. He felt her turn him on his back and press a wet cloth to his brow. His vision was collapsing inward, shudders periodically ran up and down his spine, he was so tired, his limbs felt like they were made of lead, and his mind was wind.

She was calling to him. Telling him to stay awake. Trying to convince him to just wait a couple minutes before he fell asleep. But he couldn't. All he could think of was how nice her voice was, and how wonderful it was that she smelled like the cherry blossom tree and strawberries.

And these were all _those_ kinds of thoughts. The single thoughts.

Then he was swimming and floating and falling all at once. Velvet washed over him and he closed his eyes.

Bulma was still hovering over him.

...

Then he was awake. Not the groggy awake when there wasn't good sleep the night before, and it's 11 o'clock in the morning. But the awake that exists when a person snaps up, eyes wide and the world more clear than what's comprehensible.

The first thing he noticed was that he had no eyes. The second thing extended off of that to realize he had no type of body part at all. That he was just there. The third thing he noticed was that there was someone else, and like him they had no body. There was nothing there of that person for him to physically see, but he knew they were there, and he didn't really perceive how he could question that.

There was energy, that much he knew for certain. The person in front of him was energy, and if he had to say what kind of energy this person was, he'd say that they were a warm spring green.

But he couldn't say, because he had no mouth and he had no voice.

These bodiless beings circled. They swayed, drew close, pulled back, and moved with the pulses of their energies as they slowly started to merge. Everything felt like moving through water.

Then they were close. But there was something separating them. Something that repelled them against one another. He didn't like it. Their energies were spiraling almost perfectly together, and they just needed to cross this one piece. This last thing, and then they would contact.

He had no voice but he conveyed, "Show me. Show me what this is."

And then the warm green energy took shape. It sprouted legs and arms, grew spiky hair. Like a glowing green shadow of someone. "Why?"

And then he too, took the shape of a shadow, black outlined with white. No face, just like the other. "I need to see."

He paused. "Tell me why I should give myself up for you."

"Not for me. For us. For you. You are me and I am you. We're the same. You're not giving anything up. Just the loneliness. That's all it costs."

He seemed to think for a moment. "And what happens when I've shown you all I can? You're withholding information as well."

"I will share."

"Everything?"

"Everything."

"Even her?"

"Why would I steal from myself?"

"Fine. You will not like all that you see."

"There are many unpleasant truths in the world."

"You've changed."

"As have you."

The green shadow slowly began to dissipate, and drift off as smoke. He did the same. "Follow me then."

...

_A/N: AHH! I'm so sorry that took so long. I've been super busy. _

_So, finally some BXV action. I know it was kind of abrupt, but it had been building up if you were paying attention, which I recognize is hard to do with my irregular updates, so, my apologies. Anyway, working on another chapter for "Trouble." That should be up fairly quickly, I hope. Happy holidays my friends!_


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